Children of Time, Minisode 1: Homecoming
by Wholmes Productions
Summary: March, 1894. Sherlock Holmes's hiatus is almost at an end, but little does he suspect who awaits his return to London...
1. A Fitting Welcome

**==Chapter 1==**

 **A Fitting Welcome**

 _"The light of day showed you the limits of possibility. But walk through the dark, the absolute, total darkness, and the possibilities were limitless."_

― Michael Grant, Fear

 _Tuesday 6th March, 1894_

"The Director will see you now, sir."

Moran nodded curtly at the underling that had led him to the study, striding in without knocking – perhaps now he'd find out why he'd been summoned from his lodgings at this ungodly hour. A man sat behind the ornate oak desk, hands folded. The Colonel bowed slightly, noting warily that his host's face was hidden in shadow, the fire in the hearth behind him the only light source. "Director."

"Welcome to the Torchwood Institute, my dear Colonel. So good to see you again."

Moran's blood froze. _That voice_... no, it _couldn't_ be! Then his host switched on a nearby lamp on the desk, illuminating a set of very familiar features... The Colonel's eyes widened in shock and disbelief, taking an involuntary step backwards. "My God..." Although now that he took a second look, he could see that this man was far too young, almost young enough to be the Professor's son! Drawing his revolver, he aimed it straight at his host's forehead, eyes steely. "A most impressive likeness, sir –" he continued coldly, "do convince me not to put a bullet in it. Why am I here?"

The imposter's smile faded. "Because it was time," he responded with admirable steadiness. "I must ask that you not put a bullet in my head, Colonel; it would be very messy for all concerned, and I would rather not be killed by an old comrade. I can explain everything, and I do not expect it to be easy for you to believe…" quietly, "but I do think that I can convince you of the truth."

Moran frowned deeply, his suspicions not the least bit allayed, but with a flicker of uncertainty in his gut. After a long moment's consideration, he reholstered the weapon.

His host gave him a slight nod of thanks, gesturing at a chair to the Colonel's left. "Would you care to take a seat?" Once Moran had done so, never taking his eyes off the man in front of him, he continued. "You still do not know what Torchwood is, correct?"

"I'm afraid not."

His host nodded. "We have had to remain highly secretive, for several reasons." Moran's eyes widened again as the imposter's voice took on the Professor's old lecturing tone, seemingly without conscious effort. Could it be...? "The Torchwood Institute was founded by the Queen herself in 1879 and is answerable to her alone; very few persons in the government are even aware of our existence. The most pressing reason for secrecy is that most would think us and our mission insane. "

"And that mission is?"

'Moriarty' looked Moran directly in the eye. "To protect the British Empire from extraterrestrial threats."

Moran couldn't quite suppress a snort, although he tried to turn it into a cough. "Pardon me, 'Professor' – and would these extraterrestrials be the ones responsible for your appearing a good twenty years younger? "

'Moriarty' favoured him with a small but brittle smile. "The two are connected, but not one and the same." He leant forward, resting his elbows on the desk and steepling his fingers. "Consider, Moran: mankind's history is riddled with tales of gods, demons, dragons, ghosts, witches, fairies, creatures of the night." He spread his hands slightly. "Where did they all come from? "

The Colonel's lips tightened, patience starting to wear dangerously thin. "I really couldn't say, sir - I've never had much time for fairy tales."

His host sighed and nodded. "Very well. If I may retrieve something from my desk? It isn't a weapon, but you may have your revolver trained on me again if you wish. " When Moran nodded back in invitation, leaving his weapon holstered, he pulled a drawer open and took out what appeared to be a book. "This is a... personal favourite." He set the volume on the desk and opened it... and Moran exclaimed aloud as a shimmering image sprang to life across the hollow inside, richly illustrated and bearing a script like no other written language the Colonel had ever seen.

His host raised his eyebrows, smiling faintly at the reaction, then pressed a small block of text – an entirely different page appeared. Moran unconsciously leaned forward in his seat for a closer look, then shook himself, refocusing on the man before him in shock and awe. "Forgive my scepticism, Professor," he said with complete sincerity, if somewhat stiffly. "It's good to see you again."

Moriarty visibly relaxed, with something akin to relief in his expression. "It is entirely understandable, my dear Moran. Most are unwilling to accept the existence of the fantastical things we at Torchwood must take for granted."

The Colonel nodded slowly, eyes gleaming speculatively. "And would I be correct in thinking, Professor, that your inviting me here, just as –" His jaw tightened involuntarily; "Sherlock Holmes seems on the verge of returning to London, is no mere coincidence?"

Moriarty own eyes gleamed, lacing his fingers together. "I'll not deny it." He smiled slowly. "Holmes must feel safe enough to come home..."

Moran, on the other hand, wore a broad, malicious grin. "Then I gather you have a fitting welcome planned?"

The Professor gave a soft, brief chuckle. "Indeed, but not quite the welcome you think. The time is not yet right for that step."

Moran nodded, concealing his disappointment. "I am at your service, Professor, as always. What do you require of me?"

"I require you to commit a murder, my dear Colonel, but it will require more time and effort than the standard. Scotland Yard will be baffled—which is no longer quite their constant state—and Holmes will not be able to resist coming home. You shall use the airgun."

The Colonel's eyes glittered at the prospect. It had been a long time since Reichenbach, and his fruitless pursuit of Holmes hadn't helped at all, although he'd occasionally found an outlet for his frustrations... "Who's the target?"

"The young Honourable Ronald Adair. I harbour no ill will against the boy himself; however... shall we say that the child pays for the sins of the father? What is essential is a target that is inconsequential in and of himself, and yet of import enough to sell the front page of all the papers." Moriarty steepled his fingers again, covering his mouth, looking expectant.

Moran snorted loudly. " _That_ pious little milksop? I'll need one hell of a plausible motive!"

Moriarty laughed. "Why, it's quite simple: you and he will be whist partners at one of his clubs, and _you_ , dear Colonel, will cheat, as I know it amuses you to do. Adair will eventually uncover the truth and attempt to persuade you to stop or expose you." He spread his hands, smile turning ironic. "What more do you need?"

What indeed? Still... Moran's eyes narrowed. "One more thing, Professor: how do you intend for the case to be concluded?"

The Professor's smile faded. "I am sorry, Moran. I need you here. But in order to achieve that end, you must... disappear, as I have done. Remain so thoroughly concealed that Holmes will never so much as suspect the truth until it is too late."

Moran's jaw tightened as he made the connection. "And for Holmes to believe I am no longer a threat..." He exhaled heavily through his nose, frowning. "You realise, sir, what you're asking of me?" After three years' dreaming of obtaining satisfaction for Moriarty's 'death', the thought of having to knowingly _walk_ into Holmes's net was galling in the extreme!

Moriarty gave him an apologetic look, answering quietly, "Believe you me, I do, far better than you can imagine. And it wouldn't be easy for you in the slightest. But Holmes's victory will be small, indeed, compared to his ultimate defeat."

The Colonel nodded in resignation, the wicked grin slowly spreading again as he imagined Holmes's expression on coming face to face with Moriarty once more... "And the doctor?"

The Professor seemed to hesitate for a split second, then responded with a chilling smile of his own. "Doctor Watson will be that defeat: Holmes will never allow any harm to befall his dearest friend if he can help it."

Moran raised a sceptical eyebrow. "It'll be a miracle if Holmes doesn't have the door slammed in his face!" Watson surely couldn't help but be furious with the detective for deceiving him all this time. "Sir, I'm aware the doctor's as long-suffering as they come, but even he's got his limits."

Moriarty hummed thoughtfully. "But Watson has also just lost his wife and child. I think he shall be rather more grateful than not to discover that he is not quite so alone in this world anymore. Watson does indeed have his limits, and I am counting on that, but in quite a different way."

Moran merely nodded, rising from his chair – any further questions could wait till a decent hour. "If you'll excuse me, Professor, it is very late; I'll need at least a few hours' sleep before visiting the Bagatelle Club." Prison would be no joke, however short the stretch, and he intended to make the most of his last few weeks of liberty.

"Of course." Perhaps his lieutenant was imagining things, but Moriarty's half-smile seemed to have an affectionate edge to it. Echoing it, Colonel Moran gave his general a crisp salute, and marched smartly out of the room.

* * *

 **Ria:** The idea for this scene actually came up over a year ago, but we only realised recently what a great flashback episode it would make. Apologies to Doyle, but the original case does have more than a few gaping plot holes. Just for starters, we're quite certain Moran would have known from Moriarty that Holmes didn't normally sit in that spot by the window – 'an old shikari' like him _would_ spot a trap that obvious a mile away!

 **Sky:** Yeah, EMPT is a tiny bit hard to swallow, just like FINA. And it's more fun to have Moriarty behind things! I think it also makes EMPT infinitely scarier—poor Holmes is so happy to be home; he has no idea what's being set up for him!


	2. A Price For Everything

**==Chapter 2==**

 **A Price For Everything**

 _"People speak sometimes about the 'animal' cruelty of man, but that is terribly unjust and offensive to animals, no animal could ever be so cruel as man, so artfully, so artistically cruel."_

– Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

The spring of 1894 had caused James Moriarty a good deal of stress: pulling the wool over the eyes of a genius was not a matter to be taken lightly. But Moran's crime, arrest, and subsequent trial had worked themselves out beautifully, and if Moran had walked right into Sherlock Holmes's trap, the detective had never suspected anything other than the desperation of revenge.

How naive, and very like the boy. He saw, he observed, but he did not always _understand_.

But enough of Holmes, for the moment. Colonel Moran had returned at last to Torchwood, and Moriarty was pleased indeed to have his right hand back.

He paused outside the door to Moran's new suite, hoping that he would find the Colonel sufficiently recovered from his ordeal, then knocked.

Moran opened the door, nodding in greeting. "Professor." He wished he was a little more presentable for his general's first visit. Four weeks in Pentonville had left him noticeably paler and thinner, with a regulation prison haircut that reminded him far too much of his infantry days – although he'd thankfully been permitted to keep his moustache.

Nodding back, Moriarty entered and studied the other man. Moran looked more the worse for wear than Moriarty had ever seen him, but then, Moriarty had never asked so _much_ of his right hand before. "Colonel, good morning. How are you faring?"

"Better, sir, thank you." Moran smiled grimly. "I can't say I missed sleeping without a mattress." He might be used to rough conditions, but he'd still been thankful to return to civilisation after tracking Holmes back and forward across two continents.

"I am sorry that this charade was necessary." Moriarty smiled slightly. "It is good to have you back, Moran."

Moran hesitated, then decided to take advantage of the Professor's good mood. "If I may make so bold, sir... the poor devil you replaced me with? He won't be able to contact his family under my name, I told him I'd speak to you about it." Moran's photograph had been taken immediately after his arrest, necessitating the use of a doppelganger. Unfortunately, all letters in and out of prison were read by the head warden, who might well become suspicious at the 'Colonel' corresponding with a wife and children that he didn't officially have!

Moriarty favoured him with a tolerant half-smile. "My dear Moran, you astonish me." The Colonel did possess a sentimental streak, but it rarely manifested itself. "Very well, I suppose arrangements can be made."

"Thank you, sir. He'll do well enough once he's out of solitary, I imagine –" The grim smile returned, Moran's eyes glittering; "there aren't many who can claim to have had their hands around the neck of the Great Detective." His hands tightened involuntarily at the memory, what he wouldn't give to be able to finish the job...

Moriarty echoed the smile, recalling nearly strangling Holmes himself, years and years ago. The fear glittering in the boy's eyes had been so satisfying—he clearly had not been expecting more than a token resistance from an old professor... "No, likely not. Never fear, Colonel: our time shall come."

The Colonel snickered. "And from what I saw of Holmes when last we met, it was pretty clear what his friend thought of his disappearing act!" The detective had already been looking decidedly worse for wear before Moran got his hands on him, sporting the beginning of a beautiful black eye. "Has the doctor really moved back in at Baker Street?" He had heard rumours, but they'd seemed almost too good to be true.

"Indeed he has, almost straightaway, bless his good soul." Moriarty pitied the man for his generous spirit. "It is as I anticipated: Dr. Watson has been starved for companionship after the loss of his wife and child."

Moran nodded reflectively – despite the bereaved Major's appalling taste in company, he hadn't lost any of his respect for the man. "Then if I may inquire, Professor, what's our next move?"

Moriarty nodded at the armchairs near the fireplace. "You may want to take a seat: it shall take some time to explain." He took one of the chairs and steepled his fingers. "Tell me, Colonel: if you had caught up properly with Holmes, did you have any precise plans of revenge?"

Moran's eyes glinted as he seated himself. "Let's just say that I would have considered a bullet perhaps a little too merciful."

Moriarty smirked slightly. "And I would agree, though I think my alternative is likely to be quite different from yours." He could well imagine what his tiger hunter had had in mind for the detective. "What might be the cruelest thing you could do to an enemy in the name of revenge?"

The Colonel arched a thoughtful eyebrow – he'd had plenty of time to consider the question, and it seemed unlikely that Moriarty was talking about physical torture. "Well, I suppose, if it were possible... make him the cause of his own destruction."

Moriarty raised both eyebrows and gave a single, slow nod. "Quite so." He hadn't, after all, made Moran his right hand merely for his hunting prowess but for his brain, as well. "I believe this can be accomplished with Holmes, and I believe that it can be taken one step further."

Moran tilted his head, greatly intrigued, then his eyes narrowed. "If I recall correctly, Professor, Holmes refused to even consider your last proposition." Not to mention that Moriarty's intrigued leniency towards the detective had almost cost him his life! "What makes you think he'll be any more agreeable this time?"

"Because previously, I failed to consider and plan for Holmes's weaknesses," Moriarty said calmly. He understood Moran's frustration—normally, Moriarty's gambits worked and that one failed almost fatally. "I will not make such an offer again until I hold all the cards." He should have known better, back then: there were too many variables that he hadn't so much as attempted to control.

Moran grinned wickedly – whatever part he might have to play in the detective's downfall, he was sure it would be _most_ satisfying. "D'you know, I still find it hard to believe that Holmes actually thought I could have fallen for such an obvious ruse!" He snorted. "'So old a shikari', indeed!"

Moriarty chuckled briefly. "How charmingly naïve. For all his intelligence, the Great Detective can be appallingly blind, particularly where sentiment is concerned."

"Mm." The Colonel sobered, reminded that there were still a great many questions which Moriarty had left unanswered before his lieutenant's arrest. "And if you'll pardon the liberty, Professor... _I'd_ have to be blind not to notice that in the two months since I've been back, you seem to have grown still younger." He looked Moriarty right in the eye, silently daring him to deny it.

 _Ah._ _Well done, Moran_. The Professor clenched his fists briefly, all traces of levity gone—a long lifetime of cultivated impassivity could not hide the bitterness he felt at his dilemma. The moment he had finally allowed himself to acknowledge his condition, he had felt more terror than he had ever done before in his life, even while falling into the Reichenbach Falls. "No, it is true." His gaze flickered to the fireplace. "I am not aging naturally, and I have not done so for years."

Moran stared. How was that possible? It was only three years since Switzerland, and there had been no sign of any such affliction then!

"When I survived the falls... there was a price to pay. There are rips and tears in the fabric of reality, holes... one may walk into some and fall into others. Some may deposit you on entirely the opposite side of the world from your previous location. One such rift lies at the bottom of the Reichenbach Falls."

Listening in growing horror, the Colonel's eyes burned with fury at the revelation; he might have known that Holmes was somehow responsible!

"I fell through that tear and landed in Cardiff," Moriarty continued quietly, secretly gratified at Moran's reaction, "and the year was no longer 1891. Rather, it was Christmas of '69." He smiled mirthlessly. "Believe you me, no one could have been more surprised than I."

Moran shook his head, still having trouble believing what he was hearing – but the evidence was sitting right in front of him. "And you've been in hiding all that time..." His eyes widened. "Reichenbach," he said softly. He'd thought at the time that he could sense someone else watching him while he was trying to knock Holmes off his perch. "That was _you_?"

Moriarty's mirthless smile widened. "Ah, then you _did_ notice." It hadn't been easy, watching himself essentially die there, at Reichenbach, but he'd had to be sure that everything would work out the way it was meant to, including Holmes's escape from Moran. "I should have done better to conceal myself. "

The Colonel shook his head again, marvelling at the Professor's sheer nerve in watching such a critical moment, and without lifting a finger to interfere. "Call it an old hunter's instinct... Well, Holmes may be intelligent enough in his way, Professor, but he's hardly the miracle worker the doctor makes him out to be! How do you imagine he can help you reverse this... de-aging of yours?"

Moriarty smirked. "I don't intend for him to, save as a last resort." Of course, Moran could not know that Holmes's potential aid in this matter would be quite outside the realm of engineering and deep within the realm of temporal physics. "I prefer to try Nikola Tesla first—have you heard of the man? "

"Tesla... No, I can't say I have."

Moriarty nodded. "He is a Serbian inventor, working in the States, and, if I'm not mistaken, the greatest scientific mind of our time." He had, in fact, taken a brief holiday to Chicago the previous year to see the World's Fair—and more specifically, to see Tesla's genius firsthand. He had not been disappointed. "I have a plan for a machine, but the scope of it is beyond the ken of even Torchwood's best. I intend to hire Mr. Tesla's services, through circuitous channels, of course. "

Moran whistled silently, then frowned. "But even if he succeeds, sir, there's a lot that could go wrong with a machine like that – how are you going to test it? " Certainly not on himself, if his lieutenant had anything to say about it!

"I have some theories." Moriarty was quite aware of some of Tesla's... eccentricities, which he believed would work in his favour. "I also expect Holmes will be visiting Tesla about the time that the machine is finished: I intend to retrieve him then. "

Moran gave his general an odd look – the Professor might be a superb logician, but how could even he be certain of Holmes's movements that far in advance? "I assume there's a reason for not waiting until he returns to England."

Moriarty smiled slightly. "Yes, there is, and it is rather complicated. And yes, I am anticipating Holmes's movements quite far into the future." He hoped Moran could work this one out on his own; the Colonel was intelligent, and Moriarty had given him the necessary clues to do so.

The Colonel resisted the urge to sigh, fingers drumming on the arm of his chair, eyes narrowed as he attempted to follow the chain of logic. The hardest aspect of joining the Torchwood ranks, he was quickly learning, was keeping in mind that the old rules of what was possible and what wasn't had essentially all gone out the window. Finally, his lips tightened, not liking the conclusion he'd been forced to draw. "Something else happened to you in that rift, didn't it?"

Moriarty tilted his head affirmatively, pleased with his lieutenant. "The effects were twofold, a blessing and a curse. The curse lay in the aging. The blessing, however..." He looked away, at the fireplace, letting the flicker of the flames soothe his mind... and shook his head. "The ability to see Time... to see _all_ of it, past, present, and future." His voice became hushed, reverent. "Every moment that ever was and ever will be. "

Moran's jaw dropped, speechless for several moments – he couldn't even conceive... Dear God, how on earth could even a genius like Moriarty keep from going completely insane after something like that?

Moriarty looked back at the Colonel and sighed. "For heaven's sake, man, you needn't look at me like that. I have lived over two decades now with this ability, and I can assure you that it has caused no ill side-effects. " Which was not quite the exact and literal truth, but the worst Moriarty suffered were the occasional headache and sleepless night. He knew that the consequences could have all too easily been much worse.

Moran nodded slowly, still uneasy – but surely if the Professor _were_ mad, someone at Torchwood would have noticed by now?

Ah, Moriarty knew what would ease Moran's mind. He would not do the man the disrespect of trying to read it without the Colonel's permission, but he still knew his right hand well enough to know his thoughts half the time anyway. "I could see you during your pursuit of Holmes; I must say that, though you did not catch him, the chase was not entirely fruitless." Moriarty smiled grimly. "From all that I could tell, the man was quite miserable."

The Colonel snorted in satisfaction, then suddenly scowled. "Gave me the slip properly in Tibet, though – tracked him right up to the Sera monastery, but after that..." It was as if the man had vanished into thin air, and Moran had simply been unable to close the gap since then, forcing him to rethink his approach. Returning to London and civilisation had been the right decision, giving Holmes the chance to grow complacent enough to relax his guard, while the hunter reaped the benefits of his prey's lingering paranoia.

The Professor nodded slowly. "He had some rather... extraordinary help. I think it is long since time I told you about the Doctor."

* * *

 **Ria:** Perhaps most of this chapter wasn't really a surprise to anyone who's up to date with the previous episodes, but we felt that having before and after scenes for EMPT would do better for tying up the loose ends. (To those who missed the update in 'Dynamics', our Moriarty is the _original_ canon Professor, _not_ the SH22 clone - although we can understand the confusion! =) )

I learned a lot in reading up on prison conditions for the Victorian era – Pentonville was the Hilton compared to some of the other places Moran could have ended up, but it still would have been no picnic. Researching the court system was a bit of an eye-opener, too!

 **Sky:** Yeah, ouch.

Also, even now, there were things that I (in writing Moriarty's bits) had to hold back on. Shh, spoilers! But golly, I love writing him, and I loved writing this minisode. Moriarty and Moran are horrible, horrible people, but boy are they fun to write about!

Please review, and see you next episode! (Here's a spoiler: it's gonna hurt. *evil cackle*)


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